


The Kids Are Alright

by Reyn



Series: Kid Fics [3]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Kid Fic, M/M, Stiles is actually terrible with children, Stiles the babysitter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-20
Updated: 2013-01-20
Packaged: 2017-11-26 03:57:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,821
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/646309
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Reyn/pseuds/Reyn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek stumbles across some young children in the woods. Deciding to be a good citizen, he gathers them up and turns them in to Sheriff Stilinski...and Sheriff Stilinski's son.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Kids Are Alright

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the [Teen Wolf Reverse Bang](http://twreversebang.livejournal.com/). I was luckily enough to write for the fantabulous ordinaryink ([livejournal](http://ordinaryink.livejournal.com/) | [tumblr](http://ordinaryink.tumblr.com/)). 
> 
> You can find the art for this story [HERE](http://ordinaryink.livejournal.com/62485.html)! Please please PLEASE go check it out and drop her a comment!!

 

As a child, Derek’s parents often encouraged him and his sister, Laura, to play outdoors by telling them nothing would dare harm a Hale in Hale Woods. The reassurance was unneeded by the age of five, was understood as a private family joke by eight, and helped spread word that they were either vampires or werewolves by the time the Twilight saga became a top-selling hit (which was also known as the high school years).

In spending all of his time in his family’s forest, Derek had been quick to learn two things. One was that it was a bad idea to bring girls out here because they would immediately start quoting Bella Swan lines and fully expected him to play along. The second was that the reason nothing out here would dare harm a Hale is because no natural predators lived in this area of the woods.  
  
This fact had recently come into dispute by quite a few of the townspeople, many who had sworn they’d seen something with claws and teeth that was larger than a rodent, but much smaller than a deer. When the police tried to ask for clarification, they received descriptions that ranged from wolverines, to baby bears, to even wolves or coyotes. One caller swore the woods had been taken over by a lost circus troupe of monkeys.  
  
All of these explanations were ridiculous, but it didn’t stop the sheriff from calling up Derek personally and asking him to either investigate the matter himself or give the Beacon Hills Police Department permission to scout the forest so they could put the citizens’ worries to rest.  
  
Derek, however, enjoyed his privacy, and felt no remorse in lying, telling Sheriff Stilinski he would look into things himself.  
  
At least, it would have been a lie if the sheriff hadn’t called him up one week later to say his son had just informed him that Derek’s nickname in town had changed from Edward Cullen to Dr. Moreau. While it did help to show that the locals had classier book tastes than what was previously believed, it also meant a greater risk of Derek being run out of town if these disturbing animal sightings escalated into attacks.  
  
After calling Laura to make sure he couldn’t _legally_ be chased off their family’s land, Derek grudgingly gave into the sheriff’s demands to start scouting out Hale Woods.  
  
The first thing Derek did was hop on his ATV to check the simple fencing that sporadically outlined the land that he was 100% sure was under his family’s name. There were no breaks and none of the barbed wire was cut, but that didn’t necessarily mean anything. Predators could have passed through in other locations or simply jumped the fence. But large dead carcasses also failed to turn up on his hikes, and it was more that fact than anything else that gave him the reassurance and confidence to finally turn around on his early morning stroll and march over to the bush that held the last auditory signs of him being followed.  
  
His plan had been to give the bush a good shake before searching through it, but before he was able grab any of the branches, something small and furry burst out from the undergrowth and latched on to his bare foot with what felt like teeth.  
  
Derek tried to scramble away, but whatever it was also had a solid grip on the bottom of his pant leg. A wolverine! A rabid raccoon! A man-eating baby bear! His thought process corrected itself as he realized he was being held onto with very human fingers. A monkey!  
  
Or…a child?  
  
Bending over, Derek picked up the fur pelt that was covering the child, only slightly surprised when the kid lifted with the skin. The animal hood fell back to reveal a boy’s tanned face as he struggled against Derek’s hold, twisting his spine in such a way that enabled him to grab onto Derek’s forearm. The next thing Derek knew, he was being climbed like a tree with a foot jammed against his jaw, dirty toes slipping into his mouth, and his hair being roughly pulled. He was vaguely aware of something hitting his shins repeatedly as well, but at the moment, his attention was more focused on getting the kid off of him without having any of this hair ripped out in the process.  
  
It was a fruitless effort that the boy won, waving his two fistfuls of victory in the air as Derek held him out at arm’s length, shaking him slightly. “Stop that!”  
  
The boy responded by immediately shoving one of the fistfuls in his mouth.  
  
“No!” Completely forgetting that the child had no inhibitions about biting him, Derek shoved his fingers into the kid’s mouth and pulled out the hair strands.  
  
Letting out a growling whine, the boy turned his head away and quickly tried to eat the other fistful.  
  
“What is wrong with—?” Finally losing what little patience he had left, Derek dropped the hair he was clutching and smacked the kid on the nose before pulling out the second clump of saliva-covered strands. “No! You don’t eat hair! This is mine! My hair! Got it?”  
  
He didn’t realize the type of face he was making until he felt it relax at the fearful, teary gaze he was now being subjected to. Shit, he scared the kid. Derek’s eyes widened as it occurred to him that he had done even worse and _hit_ the child. Double shit.  
  
He looked around, fully expecting someone to burst out from behind a tree and accuse him of child abuse.  
  
It didn’t happen, but that didn’t stop Derek from letting out a groan and dropping his head. From vampire to mad scientist to child abuser, the people in town would say they always knew there was something weird about him. Just another tick to add to the never-ending list of made up reasons someone from the sheriff’s department was always being called over to investigate.  
  
His wallowing in self-pity came to an abrupt halt when Derek realized he was being stared at. Stared at by four small children standing directly in front of him, all of whom were watching him with varying degrees of apprehension and defiance. They were dressed just as strangely as the boy he was holding, which, upon closer inspection, appeared to be wolf pelts draped around them. Aside from what was either smudges of colorful dirt or very dirty face paint, they really weren’t wearing much else.  
  
“Well, that explains the rumors, Derek muttered, crouching down so that he could not only be eye level with the kids, but get a better look at the furs they were wearing.  
  
If he didn’t know any better, he’d swear they were real, complete with the canine heads acting as hoods. It was morbid and a little terrifying to see children so small dressed in such a manner, but Derek figured it wasn’t his place to judge.  
  
The boy in his grip was finally limp, so Derek gently placed him down, giving him a bit of a double-take at the wide-eyed, hero-worshipping stare he was now being subjected to. None of the children ran off, leading Derek to the conclusion that it was time to play the part of the responsible adult.  
  
“This is private property.”  
  
The stares went a little blank with incomprehension, and Derek realized maybe he should use smaller words.  
  
“Where are your parents? Your moms? Dads? Any family at all?” The silence stretched on, so Derek tried to make himself a little more approachable. “You know, it _is_ okay to talk to strangers when you’re lost.”  
  
The angriest-looking of the group of children stubbornly crossed his arms. “Not lost.”  
  
Derek’s eyes involuntarily narrowed. “You are if you’re in Hale Woods. What’s your name, kid?”  
  
The boy clenched his jaw and looked away.  
  
“Jackson.” Derek’s challenging gaze moved to the timid eyes peeking over the brat’s shoulder. “His name is Jackson.” The eyes flickered over to the nervous girl standing beside him. “She’s Erica.” Then to the dark child further back. “That’s Boyd.”  
  
Derek nodded. “And what’s your name?”  
  
The boy glanced down before answering, “Isaac.”  
  
Derek nodded once more and turned his head to look at the hair-eater. The kid was still staring at him with his mouth hanging open, but seemed to catch on when Derek’s eyebrow cocked expectantly.  
  
“Scott!” he announced loudly, stepping closer to Derek and grabbing on to his pant leg. The action seemed to encourage the others and they all shuffled a little closer. The movement was a bit unsettling to Derek, but he took it in as a sign that he had gained their trust and counted it as a win.  
  
“Where are your parents?” he tried again, watching as the children all exchanged glances and shrugged.  
  
The corners of Derek’s lips tugged down in a thoughtful frown. The closest camping grounds were nearly one town over, and if a missing child alert had gone out, Beacon Hills would have heard about it.  
  
“Are you with anyone at all? Who’s taking care of you?” Derek’s gaze continued to scan the area around, baffled that someone could lose five individual children in one go.  
  
A hand gripping his sleeve brought his attention back to Scott.  
  
“You take care of us,” Scott stated earnestly, his brown eyes wide and trusting.  
  
Derek started to shake his head, but stopped when he noticed the others nodding in agreement with Scott.  
  
Clasping his hands together, Derek bowed his head in momentary thought. “I’m going to have to call this in, let the sheriff know what’s going on. But he’s not in on Sundays.”  
  
The kids had all gone back to staring at him blankly.  
  
“I’m hungry,” Boyd announced, looking decidedly unamused about everything in this situation.  
  
Derek’s fridge currently housed exactly four items. An egg, milk that expired two days ago, ranch dressing, and an empty box of what used to be Chinese takeout. The sheriff’s fridge, however, was probably fully stocked because the sheriff was a responsible adult who had a son. A teenage son, who presumably ate a lot.  
  
Decision reached, Derek placed his hands on his thighs and moved to stand.  
  
“Who’s up for a visit to the sheriff’s house?”  
  
\---  
  
“Dad! Door!” Stiles shouted as the doorbell rang for a second time. Normally, he would answer it himself, but he was in the middle of changing shirts for the fourth time, and had no intention of leaving his room for at least another twenty minutes.  
  
Looking perfect for the perfect first date was a process.  
  
He ignored the third ring in favor of critically eyeing his reflection, but before he could decide on discarding this shirt as well, the doorbell began to ring incessantly.  
  
Huffing out an aggravated sigh, Stiles looked away from his mirror to the door of his bedroom.  
  
“Dad?”  
  
When there was no reply, he grabbed an old pair of jeans from the floor near his laundry basket and tugged them on, buttoning them as he headed down the stairs. In the distance, he heard a toilet flush and rolled his eyes.  
  
“I’m coming! I’m coming!” he yelled over the doorbell. “Jesus, if it’s such an emergency, you should have just called 9-1-…Derek!” Stiles could practically feel his eyeballs trying to pop out of his head, but seemed unable to get over his shock enough to do anything about it. “What are you—” he cleared his throat and tried again. “Why are you here? At my house? With children? Oh my God, you have children.”  
  
“Stiles, who is it?”  
  
Turning to make room for his dad in the doorway, Stiles backed into the living room, muttering, “He has children. Of _course_ he has children. With a face and body like that, why _wouldn’t_ he have children? But why five different ones?”  
  
In a flash, he was back in the doorway, crowding over his dad for room. “Why do you have five different children?” he demanded, ignoring the annoyed glare his father was giving him.  
  
Already, his mind was flying through the possible answers. The kids were all baby cousins, they were all adopted in a fit of a quarter-life crisis, they were a product of a secret orgy at the Hale House, and now all the mamas were demanding Derek’s parental support, they were found in the woods—  
  
Stiles’ brain stuttered to a stop at the polite smile Derek was trying to force.  
  
“As I was about to tell the sheriff, I found these kids in the woods not too far from my house.”  
  
“ _What?_ ”  
  
“ _What?_ ” Stiles’ dad echoed just as effectively. “Explain,” he demanded. “Now.”  
  
Shifting the small girl in his arms, Derek made a show of glancing over his shoulder. Seeing as how it was a late Sunday morning, there were a decent number of people out on the streets, many of whom had noticed the black Camaro parked out front and were now blatantly staring at their sheriff’s residence.  
  
“Fine, get inside, then explain.”  
  
Stiles quickly danced back, doing his best not to trip over the boys as they rushed past his legs into the house.  
  
Well, three of the boys rushed past his legs into the house. The tanned one doubled back and jammed his nose into the grass stain on Stiles’ knee and inhaled deeply.  
  
“Uh…” Stiles looked over helplessly as everyone settled in the living room without him. “Derek?” he frowned down at the kid as he continued to sniff around his thigh. “You forgot _one—nnh!_ ” His voice hit an embarrassingly high note as the kid unabashedly shoved his face into Stiles’ crotch.  
  
Stiles was immediately on his toes, hunched over at an odd angle with his hands on the boy’s shoulders, doing his best to shove him away without actually _shoving_ him away.  
  
Derek glanced back, genuine amusement dancing across his features. “Don’t mind Scott. He’s pretty forward with the people he likes.”  
  
Mouth open and ready for a snappy retort, Stiles’ brain stuttered to a halt as he wondered if Derek had experienced the same and if that meant he had just shared an indirect hip grind with Derek. Through the face of a three year old. Jesus, Stiles, look at how pathetic your life choices are right now.  
  
The girl Derek had been carrying climbed out of his lap and over the back of the couch. Stiles eyed her warily as she dropped to the floor and made her way over to them.  
  
Recovering from his momentarily lapse of good character morale, Stiles finally snapped back, “If that’s the case, I suggest you keep him away from everyone.” He released Scott only after the girl had grabbed his hand and was dragging him away, back to Derek.  
  
Stiles trailed after them, taking a tentative seat on the far edge of the L-shaped couch, watching the kids as they settled around Derek with ease while the adults started discussing business.  
  
Something fishy was afoot, and it wasn’t just the way four of the little squirts were staring unblinkingly at Stiles. Scott was too busy playing with Derek’s shoelaces to give much care to the world around him. The children certainly didn’t _act_ like they had just been randomly found by some stranger out in the middle of the woods. They were too comfortable around Derek. Too familiar. Too _trusting_.  
  
Stiles didn’t like it.  
  
No one trusted Derek. Not even babies. It was a sad truth of Beacon Hills. They would look at him and cry; Stiles had seen it happen once. But it was hardly Derek’s fault. The poor guy had the misfortune of being (indirectly) involved in one (tiny) huge arson incident back when he was a teen thanks to falling in with the wrong crowd. It was like the town hadn’t stopped judging him since.  
  
Stiles was willing to trust Derek if he knew the other man would let him. Trust him with dinner. Trust him with a movie. Trust him in the backseat of a car. In a bed. Maybe against a wall.  
  
“Stiles.”  
  
The kids were staring at him again. So was Derek. Aaand so was his dad. Maybe it was time to start paying attention.  
  
Brows raised in inquiry, Stiles’ gaze darted between everyone a few times before settling on his dad. “Yes?”  
  
“Think you can do Derek a huge favor?”  
  
Stiles’ entire body perked up in interest. “Of course. Anything. You name it, I’ll do it.” He looked over at Derek, who seemed far more entertained than grateful. “What do you need?”  
  
It was the sheriff that answered. “He and I need to head down to the station. Think you can stay here and watch the kids for a bit?”  
  
“Yeah!” Stiles agreed before the request was given a chance to properly sink in. “No. Wait.” He shook his head and glanced between his dad and Derek. “You two are leaving?”  
  
His dad was already slipping on his shoes from their eternal resting place by his chair. “Yeah.”  
  
“And you want me to stay here? By myself? With…strange children?”  
  
His father stood. “Yep.”  
  
“But—”  
  
“It’s not like they have rabies,” his dad dismissed, prompting Stiles to cast the kids a dubious glance, his body jerking forward as he was given a hearty pat on the back while his dad squeezed by. “Just put on the TV for a few hours. Or let them play with your action figures.”  
  
“What! No! Dad, those are collectables!” Stiles cried as he jumped to his feet, clambering over his section of the couch to keep up with his dad as he headed for the coat rack. “Besides, I’m supposed to leave in like—” he glanced at his wrist before remembering he didn’t own a watch and made an aborted attempt at looking around for a clock, “—an hour!” he guesstimated.  
  
“What for?”  
  
“What—? What for??” Stiles hissed. He chanced a peak back at the living room where Derek was sitting on the coffee table in front of the kids, quietly explaining the situation to them. “Because,” he stressed, lowering his voice. “Lydia finally agreed to go out on a date with me.” At his dad’s blank look, he felt his jaw drop. “Oh, no. You are not allowed to pretend you don’t know who I’m talking about. Lydia! Lydia Martin! Remember the PowerPoint?”  
  
The look he was being given clearly told him his dad had not forgotten about the forty-five minute PowerPoint presentation he had been forced to sit through several years back. Stiles had even gone as far as acquiring one of the police station’s briefing rooms for the slide show; a plan that backfired slightly when a few other officers decided to sit in out of general boredom.  
  
The title of the presentation had been ‘ _Stiles’ Dating Hierarchy: What to Expect in the Event of the Unexpected_ ’ and it contained detailed photos, clipart, and bullet points of the people Stiles wished to date but knew it was less than likely to happen.  
  
He was pleasantly surprised to find out the majority of the cops thought he was too good for the first two on his list. The sentiment was short-lived, however, as the joking and teasing started circling. Stiles was pretty sure he was never going to live down the nickname ‘Rooty Tooty’ for as long as he stayed in Beacon Hills.  
  
Things only went downhill from there, but luckily, since his dad _was_ the sheriff, he was able to yell everyone into submission just in time for Stiles to cover the most important parts of the PowerPoint.  
  
Lydia Martin, the fiery flame of every day passion, and general motivating factor of Stiles’ school behavior, was number one on his list. As in, if she ever agreed to do anything with him – _anything_ , even something as mundane as a stand next to him in the cafeteria line – then his dad was expected to understand that minor law infractions might take place in an effort to appease any request Lydia might have of him. In hindsight, Stiles was kind of glad other cops were there to hear this, just so word could spread in the unlikely event he _did_ get caught breaking the law.  
  
Then there was Derek. Derek Hale, the town’s labeled rebel without a cause, who went above and beyond Stiles’ list. In fact, he was the god of the list. The light that shone above the hierarchy pyramid.  
  
Stiles had thrown him in the PowerPoint as a last minute, two am decision, fully aware that the odds of anything actually ever happening between them, aside from maybe passing one another in a grocery aisle, ranged somewhere around pigs flying and Lydia actually agreeing to a real date with him.  
  
But Lydia _had_ agreed to a lunch date and Derek was now in his living room, and Stiles was left wondering which deity up there decided to make a sudden mockery of his normally nonexistent love life.  
  
Unfortunately for him, Stiles had expressly stated that if anything were to happen involving Derek, _anything_ at all (and yes, this included seeing him while grocery shopping), all bets were off and everyone would just have to understand and accept the state of stupid Stiles would enter while in Derek’s presence.  
  
Stiles could clearly see that his dad took this to heart, seeing as how he chose to include _watch the random children Derek happened to find_ as part of Stiles’ express stipulations. The problem with that was Derek wouldn’t be there and he probably didn’t have any attachment to them to really appreciate Stiles babysitting.  
  
“Okay, yes, Derek trumps Lydia,” Stiles allowed, in order to get that look off his dad’s face. “But let’s be realistic here for a second!”  
  
“Stiles,” the sheriff interrupted.  “The last time I let you use that argument with me, it somehow led to the diet you have me on now.”  
  
Stiles mouth hovered open in disbelief. “And it’s a _great_ diet!” he snapped. “You’re young, fit, and healthy! You are not allowed to—”  
  
“Hey.”  
  
Stiles whirled around, even as his finger remained stationary in its accusatory pointing at his father.  
  
Derek stood just off to the side, hands in the pockets of his leather jacket, clearly ready to go. The sheriff, never one to miss an opening when he spotted it, took the opportunity to slip away from his son and grab his keys.  
  
“So…I know you don’t really have any reason to do me any favors, but thanks. For watching the kids,” Derek clarified, stepping closer to Stiles. “They’re a bit nervous about me leaving them, but I promised I would come back, plus Scott seems to trust you…Anyway, I don’t know when they last ate, so it would probably be a good idea to feed them.”  
  
At Stiles’ continued unresponsiveness, Derek backed up and nodded, as if he was used to such a reaction, before turning to go and join the sheriff in the entryway.  
  
“Wait! I…uh…” Stiles couldn’t think of a single reason to make Derek stay. “I…don’t know their names?”  
  
Derek pulled a hand out of his pocket to point at the heads that were all peering over the back of the couch. “Boyd, Erica, Jackson, Isaac, and you’ve met Scott.”  
  
Stiles scowled at the wry grin that flashed across Derek’s face.  
  
“They’re good kids, right?” he asked.  
  
Derek’s eyebrows went up. “Uh, yeah. Sure.” Stiles couldn’t tell, but he was fairly certain that was a guilty glance in Scott’s direction. “Great kids. Really well behaved. Have fun!” And with that, he slipped out the door.  
  
To his dying day, Stiles would deny the whimper that escaped his throat as Derek left his direct line of sight. His father, thankfully, chose to pretend he never heard it.  
  
“There’s plenty of stuff to make sandwiches with,” the sheriff suggested. “If they get restless, let them play in the backyard, but do _not_ , under any circumstances short of death, let them off this property. Understood?”  
  
“I can’t believe you’re trusting me with small children,” Stiles shot back.  
  
“Two hours, tops,” the sheriff dismissed. “If you check the basement, we might still have a few Disney movies from when you were little. You’ll be fine.”  
  
Stiles scoffed and turned away from his dad as the door shut. “Right. This should be easy. If Derek could handle them, I can handle them. No problem.”  
  
He finished turning to face the living room only to find five identical, evil smiles beaming back at him.  
  
\---  
  
“I’m sorry, would you like to repeat that?”  
  
Lydia Martin took great pride in exactly three things: her strength of character, her sense of style, and her dignity. Together, these all contributed to her popularity at Beacon Hills High School, a position she had long ago managed to secure and hold through the highs and lows that came with teenage life.  
  
Right now she was at a bit of a low point, thanks to being dumped by the captain of the swim team. But that was okay. She was getting tired of the jock scene anyways. It was time for something new. Something respectable. Something that would garner adoring smiles rather than indulgent ones.  
  
And then Stiles Stilinski caught her eye. True, he wasn’t quite up to her usual standards of style, but he had other redeeming qualities that made up for it. At least, that’s what she had heard through local gossip.  
  
“Your reservation for ‘Stilinski’ was canceled at 1:16 because no one showed up to hold the table.”  
  
His biggest plus had been the fact that he was the sheriff’s son. That, and the promise that he was punctual.  
  
“No. No, you’re going to need to double-check that. Walk through the restaurant calling his name if you have to, because he’s here. He better be here.”  
  
The skeptical look the hostess shot her had Lydia narrowing her eyes.  
  
“Do you really think I would walk in twenty minutes late with this level of confidence if I didn’t think he’d be here?”  
  
The challenge sent the woman off to go and question all the unattached men if they happened to be the Stilinski the redhead up front looked ready to rain hell down upon.  
  
Lydia, meanwhile, marched over to the bar at stood at one of the tables, fuming with her head held high. Stiles had sounded so excited, seemed so sincere when she not only allowed him to borrow her pencil, but remained turned in her seat long enough to listen to him try to crack a joke.  
  
It had been a horrible joke that involved Schrodinger and dogs, and at the end of class, when Lydia was taking back her pencil, she felt compelled to whirl around and explain that Pavlov was the one with dogs; Schrodinger used cats. Stiles tried to stutter out that he knew that, but Lydia was done listening, already heading for the door.  
  
And Stiles gave chase.  
  
Lydia respected the chase.  
  
She nearly regretted allowing him to catch up with the amount he talked, but she had found herself smiling more often than not and figured one extravagant date wouldn’t hurt. If things went poorly, she would chalk him up as a rebound and move on.  
  
“I’m sorry, ma’am, but no one here is taking credit for being Mr. Stilinski.”  
  
Lydia hadn’t planned for things going so far beyond poorly that ‘rebound’ was nothing but a laughing dot in the distant horizon.  
  
“I see. Thank you.”  
  
Eyes firmly on the door, Lydia walked primly toward the entrance, wrapping her dignity tightly around her like a thick fur coat. She was well aware of the stares she was receiving, but she didn’t care. No one stood her up. Ever.  
  
So she was going to hunt Stiles down and find out just what dire circumstances made themselves more important than her.  
  
\---  
  
The muffled crash startled her back half a step, but Lydia was determined to see this through. She had been humiliated today, and she wasn’t going to wait until school tomorrow to make a scene.  
  
Steeling her nerves, she reached out and rang the doorbell.  
  
For a moment, all went silent, and then there was the pounding of multiple feet running for the door. But instead of the door opening, or even the almost expected sound of dogs barking, the curtains in the windows on either side of the entryway began to move. Lydia watched the distinct points of tugging as they climbed higher up the fabric with alarm. Did Stiles have cats??  
  
“No! Get down! What’s wrong with you??”  
  
There was a distinct screeching howl and the curtains were pulled out, away from the window. A clatter sounded and the curtains fell back to the window with a very loud thud, indicating Stiles had lost the tug-of-war battle.  
  
“Jackson, get out of the umbrella bin! Out! All of you go away! Just – shoo! Shoo!”  
  
The door cracked open and Lydia patiently waited until Stiles’ attention turned out from the house and onto her.  
  
She took great pride in how quickly Stiles paled.  
  
“Lydia!” Stiles immediately threw his body into the cracked opening, whether to block her from seeing inside or to prevent whatever was in there from escaping, she had no idea. “What are you doing here?”  
  
Lydia simply crossed her arms, refusing to even dignify that with a response.  
  
“Oh my God!” Stiles’ eyes widened comically as he seemed to catch on just how much shit he was in for her to be appearing on his doorstep. “Oh my God! I am so, _so_ sorry—” A crash had him whirling around. “Stop it! All of you need to sit still for two minutes so I can just – Why are there only four of you??” Stiles’ body leaned away from the door before snapping back, his head poking out to look around the porch and front yard.  
  
“Stiles!” Lydia had to snap her fingers to bring his attention back to her.  
  
“Lydia! I am so, _so_ sorry,” Stiles repeated, still looking around his feet and back behind himself.  
  
“Stiles, what are you doing?”  
  
“I, uh…” Stiles looked up and panicked eyes locked with Lydia’s baffled gaze. “I’m going to have to call you back.”  
  
And with that, he slammed the door in Lydia’s face.  
  
\---  
  
Stiles whirled around and leaned back against the door, taking in the national disaster that had become his house.  
  
There were an unreasonable number of umbrellas scattered around his feet thanks to Jackson. Stiles figured he couldn’t really complain since his one missing sock was there amongst pile. The rest, though. The rest he was definitely complaining about.  
  
Sandwiches were a bad idea. The bread had been discarded in favor of the meat and cheese. And when those were gone, the bread had been revisited and licked clean of condiments, more of which ended up on the kids’ faces than on their tongues. The lettuce and tomatoes had all been chewed on and tasted, only to be spit right back out on the floor, which, gross. Stiles had tried to give them paper towels to clean it up themselves, but the concept was beyond them and the tomato was smeared into the linoleum instead.  
  
The mess was mostly still there because every time Stiles tried to clean it properly, the kids would get into the pantry and run away with his very open box of cereal.  
  
He had given in to his dad’s advice about giving them a few of his action figures to play with. Stiles was never taking his dad’s advice ever again. He still hadn’t found Red Arrow’s missing arm, which was painfully ironic, and the tooth marks on Black Widow made him want to cry a little.  
  
He had tried turning on the TV and giving them markers and paper to color on, figuring that was a safe enough activity, but that only resulted in Scott discover his hidden stash of Snickers, a broken lamp, and the coffee table, floor, and TV screen decorated in brightly colored scribbles.  
  
There was a trail of towels that started around one of his dad’s potted plants and continued down to the bathroom thanks to Scott’s decision to pee on the tree while Stiles was yelling at them about how we only color on paper and graffiti is against the law. Unfortunately, this prompted the rest of the boys to follow suit, and at their age, they didn’t know how to turn it off when being chased and herded to the toilet.  
  
By the time they were done with the bathroom break, Scott had pulled out the majority of the pantry in their absence and was happily munching on Goldfish, which were immediately fought over until the carton couldn’t hold together against the five-way tug-of-war and exploded.  
  
This somehow prompted the most disastrous wrestling match Stiles ever had the misfortune of witnessing, and none of his attempts at breaking it up actually worked, leading him to pull the hose out as far as he could from the sink and spraying the children down. It worked wonders and the kids scattered, only to glare at Stiles as if they were considering attacking him instead.  
  
Having seen the way they fight, Stiles felt no shame in the fear that washed over him. It was like a legitimately scary Children of the Corn moment, in which he could practically taste the malice that was in the air. But then the tension was shattered by the ringing of the doorbell and Stiles was saved.  
  
In immediate hindsight, Stiles realized he had probably just tossed whatever chance he had with Lydia out the window and ran it over a few times for good measure. His head dropped into his hands.  
  
“Who was she?” Jackson demanded from his position next to Boyd. “She smelled pretty.”  
  
Lifting his head, Stiles stared. “She’s too old for you and _way_ out of your league,” he scoffed as his arm moved out to point a waving finger at the group. “Now where’s Erica? What did you guys do to her?”  
  
The boys all exchanged glances before turning their heads as one towards the stairs.  
  
Seconds later, Stiles could hear the tumbling of feet and stepped forward to watch Erica’s entrance, only to have his jaw drop at what he saw racing towards him. Which, for the record, was not a little girl.  
  
“Where the hell did the dog come from??” he shouted, too outraged to be embarrassed about his voice cracking halfway through the question. “When did you even sneak it in? And where’s Erica??”  
  
Not bothering to wait for a real response from the peanut gallery, Stiles began running from room to room, pulling out chairs, drawers, pillows, and towels all while calling out Erica’s name and doing his best not to trip over a small body every time he turned around.  
  
“You didn’t _feed_ her to that thing, did you?” Stiles asked despairingly, having run out of places to look for a hiding child. He slammed the lid to the washing machine closed and fell sideways into the wall as he tripped over Scott.  
  
“Damn it, kid!” he yelled. “You’re worried! I get it! I’m worried, too! But if I break my neck because—” He abruptly straightened and nearly threw himself up on the washing machine. “Holy fuck, they’re multiplying! Why are there two of them??” he demanded as two dogs came trotting into the room behind Isaac.  
  
They were cute, and fluffy, and adorable, but that was so completely not the point. The point was he lost one of Derek’s children and he was pretty sure the man would know if Stiles tried to replace her with a puppy or two.  
  
“Family meeting!” Stiles barked, hauling Scott up by the waist in one arm and doing the same with Isaac in the other. “Now!”  
  
He stepped over the dogs, confident enough that they would follow, and marched into the living room, where Boyd was calmly sitting, coloring on one of the spare papers. Dumping Isaac and Scott onto the couch, Stiles stood with his arms crossed on the opposite side of the coffee table.  
  
“Why are there only three of you now?” Stiles’ shoulders slumped at the unfairness of it all. He gestured at the puppies who sat by his feet, their heads cocked as they stared up at him. “You can’t seriously expect me to believe you can turn into dogs. Because if this is some kind of prank, I am done. I am _so_ done! You guys have lost me the girl of my dreams, trashed my house – a house that just so happens to be police property! You have committed a federal offence, I hope you realize! And if Derek is in on this…” Stiles trailed off, not too sure how he would feel if this really was some cruel prank of Derek’s. “Then there will be words!” he stated, doing his best to put as much conviction as possible into his lame finish.  
  
During his rant, his arms had waved about, doing quite the job at expressing just how upset he was over this whole ordeal. Now, Stiles did his best to not to cross them again and pout like some petulant child.  
  
He watched warily as Isaac slid off the couch and crouched down to crawl under the coffee table. Stiles had already checked under there earlier in his mad search for Erica, but had half a mind to do so again now that Jackson had gone into hiding as well.  
  
Anger, however, gave way to complete disbelief as a puppy crawled out from the opposite end of the table instead of Isaac’s small form.  
  
“…Isaac?”  
  
The dog barked at Stiles, its tail wagging happily in acknowledgement.  
  
Stiles made the only logical choice he could think of and jumped up on his dad’s armchair and screamed.  
  
\---  
  
The call had been…worrisome to say the least. Even from his position on the other side of the sheriff’s desk, Derek had still been able to overhear Stiles’ frantic voice, repeatedly shouting “ _Werewolves!_ ” amidst his panicked babbling.  
  
Regardless of the warning, nothing could have prepared Derek for what he walked in on upon following the sheriff into his house.  
  
“What in God’s name happened to the kitchen?”  
  
Ignoring the sheriff’s exclamation, Derek carefully stepped over the ridiculous number of umbrellas that were scattered around the entryway and continued forward, taking little note of the state of the place. Instead, his eyes remained locked on the living room, where he could see Stiles perched on the armchair, a baseball bat tucked close to his body in one hand and what looked like a printout of the cross in the other.  
  
“Stiles?” Derek asked lowly, worried about spooking the boy.  
  
Stiles gave no sign of hearing him and Derek followed his gaze over to the center of the living room, where the children were all sleeping, tied together by what looked like a disturbing amount of Christmas ribbon.  
  
Taking a steadying breath, Derek reached out and gently took the bat away from Stiles, vaguely wondering if he even played baseball to warrant owning one.  
  
“Stiles, please tell me the children fell asleep of their own devices and you didn’t kill them.”  
  
Stiles ran a hand over his short hair. “They—they were wolves! I watched them all turn into wolf puppy-cub things! All of them!” He chanced a look up at Derek. “I didn’t hurt them, they just fell asleep after wrestling around for a bit. Changed back when I went to find something to tie them up with. And now no one is going to believe me and my own father is going to be forced to arrest me for child endangerment and I'll have no choice but to plead insanity so they’ll going to send me off to the loony bin and—”  
  
Derek blinked in alarm at the loud sniffle. He nearly jumped out of his skin at the two arms that were suddenly clinging around his waist as Stiles enveloped his lower body in a hug.  
  
Never really one to offer comfort, Derek gave Stiles a stiff pat on the back, his gaze dropping down to the sleeping kids. Scott’s leg was twitching, much like a dog who was in the midst of having his belly scratched. It made Derek glad he had managed to get in touch with his Uncle Peter, who, after hearing the story, had enough suspicions to counsel Derek into filing the papers to foster the children until their pack could be found.  
  
The only real challenge now was to convince Stiles to stick around as a babysitter now that he was aware of their little secret.

 But that was a bridge he would worry about crossing after they dealt with the sheriff who had just entered the room...

 

**Author's Note:**

> Tumblr: old-sterek-feels


End file.
